


Titty Titty Bang Bang

by pregnantzombie



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol, Choking, Cum Eating, Forced Masturbation, Grinding, Jersey, M/M, Night Clubs, Nipple Play, One Night Stands, POV First Person, Slurs, They're 21, cross dressing, tit fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29071014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pregnantzombie/pseuds/pregnantzombie
Summary: After embracing the fact that you can take the fetus out of New Jersey, but you can't take the New Jersey out of the fetus, Kyle heads to a nightclub and has an unexpected encounter with Cartma- I mean, Bad Irene.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman, Kyley-B/Bad Irene
Comments: 14
Kudos: 57





	1. It's a Jersey Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grossalien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grossalien/gifts).



> This is a dear gift for a dear friend.
> 
> If you see any grammatical errors, no you didn't.
> 
> I'm guessing three chapters on this one.

I looked in the mirror and grimaced. It was time for a haircut. My red hairs all stood wildly on their ends, barely controlled anymore by the weight of my hat. I twiddled my fingers through the strands, but it was hopeless. I’d put it off long enough and now I was settled with three options.

I could make an appointment and head to a barber. But that would require first of all making the aforementioned appointment, then going in, then dealing with someone likely inexperienced with my texture butcher my hair. Not happening. 

Secondly, I could ask my mom for a haircut. She’s the one who cut my hair most of my life. The only problem with that is I, as an 21 year old man, do not want to sit on a kitchen chair with a fluffy towel draped around my neck while my mom coos and tells me how handsome her bubala looks with his new haircut. Not even a chance on that one. 

It really only left me with one option: cut my own hair. The only problem is I’ve never cut my own hair before. There’s a good chance I’ll butcher it too, but at least this way I won’t be paying anyone for the privilege.

My dad keeps a hair clipper in the top drawer of the bathroom vanity, so I reached in to grab it. I felt strangely excited to try it out for myself. And besides, if I really fucked it up, I’d be wearing my hat basically all the time anyway. My fingers curled around the clippers, but then I dropped them in a moment of clarity. Always the good student, I figured I should do my research first. So instead I reached for my cell phone and perched on the toilet, lid down, as if it were a porcelain armchair. For the better part of a half hour, I searched video after YouTube video on how to cut your own hair until I felt confident enough to attempt it for myself. I felt more reassured, but also more nervous than ever now that I had somewhat of a grasp on what I was getting myself into. If life handed out grades for cutting your own hair, I wanted an A.

So once again I grabbed for the hair clippers. I plugged them into the wall outlet and clicked them on and off a few times just to test if they were working. Sure enough, they buzzed and vibrated in my hand. Nearby was a little comb, which I ran through my strands a handful of times. Okay, clipper over comb. Couldn’t be too complicated. And then I did it. I gave myself that first tentative cut.

“No going back now,” I spoke to my own reflection.

Before I knew it I was hacking away around my nape, occasionally reaching for a hand mirror to check my progress.

“Fuck.”

It was getting too short, too uneven. For a while I did these tiny little buzz clips all around where I’d already cut but I wasn’t really taking off any hair. Eventually I let the clippers fall into the sink in frustration. I hadn’t even gotten to the top of my head yet. They clanged unceremoniously and bumbled around in a little circle before falling still.

“Fucking hell!”

Maybe all wasn’t lost. I could still fix the top, I was sure. So I took out the scissors stored nearby the clippers and along with the comb I still had I began aimless picking at locks of hair and snipping at them with reckless endeavor until I had, as predicted, completely butchered my hair.

“Aw, fuck me!” I punched the neatly stacked towels on the countertop.

Okay, okay, okay. So maybe my hair looked like it got in a losing fight with a weed wacker. That’s nothing a little hair gel couldn’t fix. I rummaged around in a few drawers before finding an old crinkled bottle with the tube screwed on so tight I could barely get it open. How old was this thing? I wiped the crust from the rim and squeezed a generous amount into my hand and began the futile exercise of smoothing it into my hair. I pulled and arranged my hair as best I could until I grew exhausted rather than satisfied.

“FUCK!” 

A string of choice swear words left my mouth in succession until there was a pounding on the bathroom door.

“Kyle?” My mother’s voice rang shrilly. “Kyle, open this door right now!”

“Not now, ma!”

“Right now, Kyle! I won’t have this kind of cursing in my house!”

“God dammit… alright…”

It only took a few moments to stride to the door and reveal myself, but it felt like agonizing hours. I unlocked the door and showed my shameful face to her.

“Oh,” she said, clearly shocked with my new look. “I thought you were over the Jersey look, Kyle. But you know what I always say, some people think the Jersey look is very nice. You look handsome, bubby.”

“Ugh, thanks mom,” my ears burned with embarrassed heat as I muttered it out.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” she informed me. “And no more swearing!”

She walked back downstairs but I still got out one final ‘fuck’ under my breath.

“Wait! Ma, I’m meeting the guys for dinner tonight, remember?”

“Well I don’t remember you saying anything about it!”

“Well I did, like a thousand times.”

“Okay,” she conceded skeptically. “Just don’t stay out late.”

Ugh… how was I going to show my face in front of the guys looking like this? I whipped my hat back onto my head, hoping I could hide it. The gel stuck to the fibers and tugged on my hair. This was awful. Ignoring the discomfort, I grabbed for my phone. I figured I better text Stan.

_“Hey dude, are we still on for tonight?”_

I anxiously tapped my fingers along the back of my phone waiting for the response. Fortunately, it only took a moment.

 _“Yep”,_ he rapid fire texted me. _“The usual spot.”_

 _“Aren’t you sick of pizza and ice cream all the time after all these years?”_ I rolled my eyes as I texted, even though he couldn’t see me. 

_“Nope :)”_

Truth be told, I wasn’t sick of it either. It was a classic, and the nostalgia helped the terrible food be more palatable. 

_“So we’re still meeting in half an hour?”_ I confirmed, dreading having to show my face in public.

_“Yeah. Cartman won’t be there, though, he’s at work tonight.”_

I shook my head, still in disbelief that of all people, Cartman was the first one in our group to get a job. I would have placed my bets on Kenny. At any rate, it was one less guy to rip on me, so I started getting ready to head out. I made sure my hat was firmly stuck on my head before heading out the door.

It was a pleasant evening for a walk. Sure it was cold, out… but it wasn’t snowing or windy, and in these parts that’s the best anyone could hope for. Besides, it wasn’t a very long walk from my house to the pizza place down the road. I arrived first and got us a booth by the window and ordered our usual cheese pizza. I took off my jacket, revealing my plain white shirt beneath it, but kept my hat planted firmly on my head. Shortly after, Stan and Kenny walked in together.

“What’s up, dude,” Stan greeted me, sliding into the booth. “Did you order?”

“Hey guys. Yeah, I did” I confirmed, sliding over to make room for him as Kenny sidled into the bench across from us. 

“Sweet,” Kenny’s voice came through his hood.

We shot the shit for a little while, talking about nothing in particular. We complained about parents, our lack of jobs, romantic woes, and everything in between. It felt great to talk to the guys without having to deal with Cartman belittling anyone. A weird little part of me missed it, but I was mostly relieved. 

“Guys,” I finally decided to come clean and show them what I’d done to my hair. “I gotta show you something.”

They tilted their heads to the side like two curious puppies. I sighed, nervous, and slowly pulled my green bomber hat off my head. It felt crunchy in there from the dried gel and I grimaced, waiting for their reaction.

“I cut my hair,” I stated plainly.

The two stared for a moment, then as if on cue both did that snort that comes just before a huge bout of laughter. Kenny erupted first, cackling like a lunatic and pounded his fist on the booth table. Stan was only slightly more polite, covering his face while he mocked me.

“Aww, aww!” I crammed my hat back onto my head and furrowed my brows angrily. “You know, this is the reaction I’d expect from fatass, but not you two.”

“No, no, you’re right, Kyle,” Stan agreed, composing himself.

“Yeah, you’re right, Kyle,” Kenny nodded solemnly.

Then they burst out laughing again.

“Alright, that’s it!” I stood up from the booth. “Fuck you guys, I’m leaving!”

Stan grabbed for my wrist and forced me to stay. I bitched and moaned but eventually I sat back down, despite every inclination to bolt.

“So,” Stan began cautiously, still smirking and clearly holding in his punk ass laughter. “What made you do it?”

“I just needed a haircut,” I explained honestly. “And apparently, the Jersey in my blood is strong enough that this shit is what happened.”

“Hey, some people think the Jersey look is nice,” Stan echoed my mother’s voice from earlier. “You should just embrace it.”

I sighed and slumped forward onto the booth table. How could I embrace something that this town had so stigmatized? It made no sense. I wasn’t paying enough attention to the other side of the table to notice that Kenny had pulled out a sharpie and was leaning across the table towards me.

“Dude, what…?”

I watched in horror as Kenny began writing the words “KYLEY-B” across my chest. It was impressive lettering for a guy with a sharpie.

Stan gawked at me for a moment then started laughing again.

“You know what, fuck you guys,” I jerked away from Stan and actually left this time.

I pushed past the waitress about to deliver our pizza and crashed my shoulder into the glass restaurant door, pushing it open into the cold of the outdoors. I stamped along the street for a while, looking at the sidewalk and trees and trying not to think about how I could feel a cool breeze nipping up the back of my bomber hat and freezing my botched nape.

“It’s just a haircut!” I screamed into the darkness. “Hair fucking grows back goddammit!”

I kicked a rock and meandered aimlessly. The night was cool and crisp, but I could feel it getting ever colder as time progressed. I ended up near SoDoSoPa. The bright lights and loud music must have subconsciously attracted me. So I wandered into the district, looking into each window I passed to glimpse at my reflection. I passed a Chinese restaurant and stopped to stare at myself.

“You know, I actually think it comes down to how I think others will perceive me,” I spoke to my tinted reflection. “It’s not about whether or not I think I look ugly or handsome, it’s about how others react. And for that much, it means I can’t be confident right now. Because you see, I learned something today. For all the talk we do about accepting ourselves as we are, it also comes down to accepting each other and not only ourselves-”

“Kid,” a man standing in the street cut me off as I rambled to the window. “What in the hell are you doing?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” I sighed out the words reluctantly. “It’s...it’s a Jersey thing.”

Now slightly embarrassed I scuffed my feet as I walked along the downtown area. It was pretty beaten up and worn down since it was first constructed over ten years ago, but parts of the place were still popular tourist and hang out spots. I strolled along those popular areas, poking my head around at the restaurants, gawking up at the ferris wheel, and scoping out the empty live performance stages. 

I found myself entering a seedier part of town soon enough, the further south I wandered. Red lights flashed and neon signs crackled with electricity. I’d never been to this area before, but I was curious and proceeded with caution. The brick walls seemed to vibrate from the hard bass thumping behind them and I realized I'd stumbled upon the nightclub portion of the district.

That’s when one caught my attention. It was covered in pink glowing signs that shouted “GIRLS!!!” in all caps. Strobing lights lined the windows to prevent passersby from peeping inside. There was a long pathway before me leading to the entrance, guarded by a huge muscular bouncer with his arms folded and a cross look plastered on his face. 

This place looked like it fell straight off an exit on the New Jersey Turnpike. My feet moved forward of their own volition. With every step towards the bouncer, my heart raced a little faster. My blood bubbled like freshly popped champagne in my veins and my head throbbed with something I could only describe as a rushing, pleasant headache.

“You just gotta embrace it,” I reminded myself of Stan’s earlier words. 

I stomped through the puddles created from the leaking overhead awning and approached the huge, intimidating man.

“Not wearing the right clothes,” he grunted at me. “We got a dress code here.”

“What are you saying?” I heard myself spit at him.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he began, but I cut him off.

“It’s a Jersey thing.”

I stripped off my coat despite the frigid air and rolled up the sleeves to my freshly Jersey-ified shirt, pulled my gold chain from around my neck to sit prominently rather than hide against my skin, and pulled off my hat to reveal my new hair.

“Oh, bro,” he raised his hands in apology. “Right this way.”

I moved to make a step forward but he poked me in the chest.

“What, now you wanna go?” i raised my arms threateningly, even though there was no possible chance of me taking this guy out.

“Ten dollar cover fee, boss,” he shrugged.

I grunted, but fumbled to find my wallet. The Jersey ran so deep I didn’t remember attaching it to the chain it dangled from. I pulled out a crisp bill and shoved it to his chest.

“You’re still garbage,” I informed him pointedly.

“Whatever, it’s all love here at Club West Jersey,” he gestured for me to pass him by.

I hadn’t quite hit my moment of clarity when I would realize I ditched my friends at the pizza place and by chance wandered into a sleazy nightclub alone dressed like muff cabbage. In that moment, all I could do was embrace this dark side of me.

It’s a Jersey thing.


	2. Bad Irene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's some links to songs I imagine playing in the club:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oC-GflRB0y4  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fb2myYCoBp8  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DpjWgGeFksM
> 
> I tried to hyperlink but ao3 wasn't having any of my shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out my outline accounts for more storytelling than initially planned, so it'll be 5 chapters now I think.

The walls around me were black brick, lit up by neon lights flicking along them. It gave the sense of being surrounded by a psychedelic rainbow. I shuffled a few steps into the dimly lit club and drank in my surroundings. Center stage, scantily clad women in six inch platform heels swung around on poles. To my left was the bar, manned by a rough looking man with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He sneered out into his surroundings while polishing the same rocks glass over and over. To my right was the turntables, manned by a DJ wearing massively oversized headphones and a loose fitting tank top. He nodded his head along with the bumping music he blasted into the club, heavy bass rolling and electronic beat thumping. I felt like I entered another dimension. 

I made my way to the bar, figuring a drink would help me loosen up. I wasn’t about to turn tail and leave since I just spent ten whole dollars just to walk in the door. The bartender glared at me then went back to polishing the same glass.

“Uh, excuse me?” I tried to get his attention.

“The fuck do you want?”

“Uh, a drink, obviously?”

“Get your ass to a table, we have rules here,” he spat the words at me. “What kind of a place do you think this is? We’re classy Jersey folk here. You sit at the table, the girls take your order.”

“Ugh, fine! Don’t talk to me like I’m garbage, you’re garbage, ya know that?”

“Yeah, whatever,” he replied. “Get outta here.”

And so just like that, I chose a table. I picked something in the middle, off to the side closer to the DJ. At least he, as far as I knew, wasn’t a total dickhead. I didn’t want to be too close to the dancing girls, but I didn’t want to be too far away either. Basically, I didn’t want to call too much attention to myself. 

A few girls milled around tables with well groomed men sitting at them. I surreptitiously watched this one cocktail waitress with chunky blonde highlights. She wore short cutoff Daisy Duke style shorts and a black tank top pulled down to reveal the mauve colored push up bra she wore underneath. The man at the table she was serving stared up at her, applying layer after layer of chapstick as he gazed directly into her cleavage. She was kind of hot. I didn’t even notice as someone approached my table and sat down.

“Well, well, well,” came a familiar voice and I ripped my attention back to my own table so fast I thought I’d get whiplash. “I didn’t realize we were letting Jews into this fine establishment.”

And there before me sat Eric Cartman. Except, he didn’t look anything like himself. I took everything in before me and through my shock, I thought maybe the ten dollars could just be a loss and I could leave right now. Cartman plopped down on the seat across from me and crossed one thigh high boot clad leg over the other. His gut fell onto his lap, very nearly covering up the miniscule black booty shorts he wore. He reclined in the chair, his chest jiggling beneath the ill fitting hot pink bra he wore.

“Cartman!” I growled his name. “What the fuck are you doing in Club West Jersey?!”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” 

He adjusted his platinum blonde wig, but the dark brown hair beneath it still poked out here and there. He licked his lips over the pink lipstick he wore to match his bra and I shuddered.

“No, I mean I thought you were working tonight,” I further attempted to explain.

My complete bewilderment kept me locked to the plush chair I sat upon.

“What does it look like I’m doing?!” Cartman demanded. “It’s a four drink minimum to talk to the girls, by the way.”

Cartman reclined a bit further and readjusted his black and white bangles, along with the huge hoop earrings glued to his ear lobes.

“You’re not a girl!” I croaked at him. “...wait a minute, four drinks? Holy shit, that’s a lot…!”

“Yes,” he said matter of factly. “So let’s see, let’s start with a pineapple martini, a manhattan, a long island, and hmmm, how about… a black russian.”

“I don’t even like any of those drinks!”

“Okay, and a red bull and vodka for the Jew,” Cartman wrote down the list on a little pink pad of paper. 

“All of those drinks are for you?!”

“Like I said, it’s a four drink minimum. I don’t want to deal with you, I don’t believe they should let your kind into the club at all, even if you are from Jersey. So let’s just get this over with,” he moved to stand up.

But before he could, I snatched him by the wrist and reeled him back in.

“How the fuck are you working here, fatass?” I hissed at him.

“Simple,” he easily sat back down and gave me a sly look from behind his poorly glued on false lashes. “I told the manager I’m trans-ginger and looking for a job. It’s this whole scheme I have going. I’m going to do such a bad job I’ll get fired, and when I do, I’ll sue the whole establishment for discrimination. It’s the perfect crime. And in the meantime, the tips are really good. By the way, tips aren’t included in the cover free or the drink cost. And it’s a four drink minimum you have to get for yourself as well as the working girls. I’ll be expecting the Jersey side of you to tip, not the Jewish one.”

“Eric Cartman,” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You are the most disgusting, amoral asshole I have ever met in my entire life.”

“Thank you,” he slipped out of the chair and slinked his way over to the bar. 

I watched helplessly as he placed his order with the bartender. He looked over in my direction, pointed, and the two of them laughed. I growled under my breath to no one in particular and waited. Soon enough he was walking back with a very full cocktail tray. He carried it clumsily, spilling and sloshing the drinks a little bit as he returned.

“Just so you know, everyone here calls me Bad Irene,” he explained as he unceremoniously dropped the tray on the table.

“Fuck you. I’m not calling you Irene.”

“No, fuck you, Kyle, I’m seriously.”

“I don’t care what you are, fatass. I regret coming here. I’m just gonna grit my teeth, drink my drinks, go home, and pretend this was all a horrible dream.”

“That’s a shame, you’ll miss all the entertainment. Don’t you want to see my pole dance and throw some sweet cash on me?” Cartman unfortunately winked at me.

“Not if it was the last pole dance on earth,” I said flatly.

“Your loss,” he shrugged and pushed my drink in front of me.

He twiddled his fingers above his own arrangement and finally selected the pineapple martini first. After examining it only briefly, he downed it in all of three hefty gulps, save for the cherry swimming at the bottom. He made intense eye contact with me and leaned forward. In a quick motion, Cartman licked up the cherry and screwed up his face for a short while. Moments later he stuck out his tongue and produced the stem freshly tied in a knot with his tongue.

“I wish I’d never seen that,” I stated honestly.

“Don’t hate me because you ain’t me,” Cartman said smugly. “You’re just jealous because I’m good at what I do.”

“I thought your whole plan was to be bad at what you do,” I said sharply.

“Ay!”

Yeah, that’s what I thought. His plan was so stupid and backwards he couldn’t even stick to it properly. For all I knew, he actually liked working here.

“You haven't touched your drink,” he pointed out. “And need I remind you it’s a four drink minimum.”

“Ugh.”

He was right, though, so I reached for the red bull and vodka he ordered for me and had a tentative sip. It was tangy, and a little bit citrusy in its way, with only the slightest burn at the back of my throat. It was admittedly pretty good so I said so.

“I actually like this,” I remarked to him.

“That’s the Jersey in you,” he said. “Most popular drink in the club. I knew you’d like it, you little monster.”

“Fuck you,” I said half heartedly, but still took another sip.

Cartman moved on to his manhattan and chugged it just as quickly as he did the martini.

“Are you even enjoying the drinks?” I demanded out of him.

“I’ll remind you the four drinks is a minimum, not a maximum.”

I groaned.

“Besides,” he continued. “I remember a certain Jew saying he wanted to hurry up, get his drinks, and leave. That is… unless he’s enjoying the company.”

Cartman leaned forward on the table and pressed his chest together in a highly unflattering way and gazed at me with glassy eyes. I needed the rest of this drink to deal with my current situation.

The bass continued thumping all around us in the club and waves of flashing uplights bounced along the walls in rhythmic time. People milled around us everywhere, filling the air with the scents of alcohol, too much cologne and hair spray, and the faintest smell of sweat. It was weird, and maybe it was the drink, but I was starting to feel somewhat at home in the environment.

I finished my first drink in relative silence. It settled warmly and pleasantly in my stomach and for the first time that evening, I relaxed into my chair.

“So what are you having?” Cartman asked me

“Uh,” I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I guess I’ll have another of the same?”

“Coming right up,” said Cartman as he stood up with a little hip wiggle. “I’ll be faster than a whore at a drive-thru abortion clinic.”

“Thanks...Irene,” I muttered under my breath.

True to his words, Cartman returned swiftly, carrying my drink with him in one hand, the other hand posed on his hip. His thigh highs put a little wiggle in his step that was a bit distracting. I couldn’t tell if it was a good or a bad thing for his image.

I sipped at my drink, the second one going down smoother than the first. The more I drank, the easier it became to drink. I downed my second cocktail almost as fast as Cartman drank his first two.

“I have to admit you’re the last person I expected to run into here,” I attempted to make some conversation with him now that I was feeling looser.

“Lucky you,” he grinned.

“That’s not what I meant. Anyway, I’ll have one of those pineapple martinis you had. That looked pretty good.”

“Oh ho ho, you hear that, ladies? My man’s ordered a specialty cocktail!”

No one around us responded, but Cartman still acted like this was a big deal.

“What are you doing, fatass?”

“Specialty cocktails require tips upfront,” he stated, looking rather pleased with himself. “I don’t make the rules, I just make the tips.”

“Ugh, fine,” I shifted in my seat to pull out my wallet and retrieved a single dollar bill, determined to give him as little of my money as possible.

“Tip me,” Cartman demanded, squishing his chest in front of me.

“No way am I sticking my hand in your bra,” I grimaced.

“Tip me,” he repeated himself, pushing his fat chest together even tighter.

I wasn’t drunk enough for this. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes, turned away, and slid the bill between soft fabric and softer skin. He lingered for a moment, pushing his breasts against my hand. Something turned over in my stomach, and while it was an unpleasant feeling, it wasn’t wholly so. He slipped away suddenly and was off to the bar to fetch my drink.

He didn’t point and laugh at me this time, just obediently went to the bar and brought back my drink and plopped it in front of me.

“One whole dollar,” he rolled his eyes. “You really are a Jew, you know that? That’s like… that’s like a 5% tip.”

I suddenly sat upright. 

“How fucking expensive are these drinks?!”

“Oh, very,” he said flippantly. “Apparently it costs a lot of money to keep this place looking so tacky.”

“Fuck,” I murmured into the rim of my glass.

I had to admit this one was very sweet, very pineapple forward. It was more apparent how Cartman downed that first one so easily. The booze swam around in my empty stomach and my perception of the world was starting to change. Suddenly I found everyone’s trashy outfits to look stylish, I found the loud obnoxious tunes to all be bangers, I found Irene’s company to be not completely abhorrent. I got near to the end of the glass, and only the cherry remained.

“Can you tie it in a knot?” Cartman asked me.

“Oh, uh, I dunno?”

I popped the alcohol laden cherry into my mouth and was able to separate the fruit from the stem, so I started by eating it. I almost choked on the stem but held back a cough. Then I began wiggling it around between my tongue and teeth. After about two solid minutes I spit out the chewed up and decidedly untied stem. 

“No,” I laughed a bit, feeling nice and warm and drunk.

“Do you want another?” Cartman leaned across the table and placed his thick hand on top of mine.

Surprisingly I didn’t jerk away. Not at first anyway. We stared into each other’s eyes for probably the first time ever. It must have been, anyway, because before this moment I couldn’t have told you his eyes were a warm, mellow brown. He gazed at me with makeup smeared in the crease of his eyelids and one of his eyelashes hung from the corner of his eye. I was able to admit that if his outfit had been on someone else, I maybe would have found it appealing. But instead of getting wrapped up in that, I broke physical contact with him to reach for my wallet once again.

I pulled out a five dollar bill this time and let Cartman lean across the table towards me to accept the upfront tip. His chest squished together before me, single dollar bill still hanging out of the right bra cup. I moved for the other side and gently tucked the five into the left cup. It took quite some effort, considering the booze had set back my dexterity. But I wanted to make sure I got it nice and snug in there, so I felt around for a moment. 

“No need to tweak my nipple, Kyle,” Cartman said smugly. “Message received. You can’t resist Bad Irene’s hot body.”

I ripped my arm away quickly, embarrassed now.

“As if, fat boy,” I barked at him over the loud music.

“No, no, it’s okay. I understand. You’re having a spiritual crisis and want to touch my hot body.”

“Just get me my goddamn drink.”

“How does it feel getting everything you want, Kyle?”

“If I didn’t know better about what’s in your pants, I’d say your muff smells like cabbage,” I said as icily as I could manage.

“Whatever you say, Kyle. Whatever you say.”

And so Bad Irene stumbled over to the bar, visibly drunk, and placed the last order for my fourth drink. I still had one more drink to down, but my head was already swimming from the alcohol and I hadn’t even stood up yet. There was no way I could just leave after my fourth, I’d be way too inebriated to walk home alone in the cold and then face the wrath of my mother. It looked like I’d be spending a little extra time at the club.

I resigned myself to see where the night would take us.


	3. Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrenaline rises through the roof at the club.

I never should have walked in this club. My head swam with the pleasant sensation of alcohol, but a little voice reminded me how badly things could turn out with Cartman involved. But then again, I really did feel so fuzzy and warm despite the cold weather. The music washed over the whole scene, hyping everyone else and I was no exception. In the end, was it really so wrong for Cartman to be dressed in drag to work at a nightclub scene? It was, for the first time I could remember, that he was actually working towards making an honest buck.

He turned around at the bar to bring back my fourth drink. It was probably the alcohol talking, but I suddenly didn’t find him nearly so repulsive. He was working hard and making money, and I kind of sort of respected that. Ultimately, he was still garbage and objectively the worst person I’d ever known. But in this moment, I sort of saw a tiny glimmer of decency.

Cartman’s hips swayed in time to the thumping bass as he returned to our little table. I drank him in before I began to drink down my pineapple martini. The hot pink bra he wore actually suited him, as if he had deliberately chosen his outfit.

“Why pink?” I asked, greedily reaching for my drink.

“Girls wear pink,” he answered plainly, unfazed by my question.

“Girls wear lots of colors, fatass,” I retorted.

“Girls… wear pink,” he said pointedly.

“Girls can wear, I dunno, blue! Why not a blue bra?”

“Because I wanted to wear pink,” Cartman said.

“I knew it!” I victoriously took a sip of my cocktail. “I knew you picked it because you liked it.”

“Wow, Kyle,” Cartman began, voice dripping in sarcasm. “You’re a clever little Jew, aren’t you. You figured out I wore an outfit because I liked it. I can’t believe your powers of deduction.”

“I knew it,” I repeated myself drunkenly and took a big, sweet pineapple flavored gulp.

“Girls wearing pink get the most tips here,” Cartman explained, shaking his chest at me. “And from the looks of you tonight, I’ll be doing just fine.”

I turned away from him, but still caught him out of the corner of my eye. He propped himself up and adjusted, for lack of a better word, his boobs in the bra to give himself some extra cleavage. Cartman leaned forward on the cocktail table and pressed his arms together, causing the whole $6 in his top to crumple a bit.

“Don’t you think so, Kyle?” 

He jiggled himself a bit and I felt my cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. 

“Kyle?”

He continued pushing himself at me, displaying his ample chest.

“Kyle, don’t you think so?”

“Okay, goddammit, fine! Yes!” I spluttered. “You’re doing just fine!”

“Exactly,” he cooed smugly and leaned back.

I downed the rest of my drink, cherry and all, in one last chug.

“Okay I finished my drink, now get me my bill so I can get out of this hell hole.”

“Leaving so soon?” Cartman whined in a fake, prissy way. “But we haven’t even danced yet.”

“I’m not dancing with you, fatass.”

“Oh ho ho, I beg to differ. Come n’here,” he grabbed at my hand.

Cartman was much bigger and stronger than I am, and apparently due to his size tolerated alcohol much better than I do. In one fell swoop I found myself back on my own two legs for the first time since I began drinking. I wobbled in place for a moment before I realized I was way too drunk to head home. Fuck.

And so just like that, I allowed myself to be dragged out to the dance floor, surrounded by girls in cages and girls twirling on poles. They were all so hot and the room was so sexually charged it made my head swim. The music climbed to its climax, then dropped to a loping thrum of heavy bass. I couldn’t help it. I was sucked up into my surroundings and began to sway.

The music hit a lull and I spun around in a dazed circle, watching the flashing colorful lights and the thrashing limbs of the crowd. I let out a small laugh, and then a bigger one. I was lost in the crowd, a victim to the night. And I was dancing with Eric Cartman, and we were both dressed like total jackasses. And I didn’t care.

I let my body show just how carefree and tipsy I felt, and let my arms move in time with the music. I was beyond buzzed and felt great. Cartman moved in closer to me and I let him. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. It was a combination of curiosity and disgust, honestly, but nevertheless I stood in spot swaying with the music and my eyes glued to his form.

His body looked so soft in the dim lights and it was very nearly flattering. Nearly. The soft skin from his belly hung over the top and sides of his booty shorts with his bellybutton on proud display. His boobs were perked up in that hot pink push up bra and honestly in my drunken state they actually looked genuinely enticing. I must have looked like a guppy, floating along with my mouth hanging open in the sea of bodies around us.

“See something you like, Jew boy?”

I flushed deeply and knew I had to come up with a lie, and fast.

“Yeah, what kind of garbage cocktail waitress are you?” I suddenly demanded. “Everyone’s got a beer out here but me.”

It was the only lie that I could come up with that wouldn’t incriminate me for sincerely checking out Cartman’s plush body on display. I don’t why I couldn’t have come up with something else. I didn’t need to be more drunk. But Cartman shimmied forward with an obnoxious, seductive look on his face.

“How bad do you want it, Kyle?” Cartman pressed his boobs together again.

I reached for my chain wallet and grabbed a bunch of random bills. I had no idea if I was giving him three dollars or thirty. I crumpled them in my fist and angrily stuffed my whole hand into his bra.

“That’s right, give it to me, Kyle,” he looked at me with glassy eyes.

He flattened my hand against his skin, and for a terrifying minute of my life, I found myself full on fondling Cartman while drunk in a Jersey themed nightclub.

“Fuck you,” I muttered, running a thumb over his nipple. “I fucking hate you.”

At this, he shivered but then ripped away from me to make his way back to the bar. I waited around 5 minutes, dumbstruck and a little nervous. I didn’t know what to make of the situation. I wished he’d go creep somewhere else, but at the same time I felt a little drunken giddiness in await for his return. 

And return he did. Before I knew it, Cartman was wobbling back in front of me holding a couple of Coors and handed me one.

“I didn’t order two, you idiot,” I snatched the can from him.

“One’s for me, you tight ass,” he slapped me ass to punctuate his point.

I jolted upright and gripped the can so hard it crunched a bit and spilled over onto my hand.

“Aww, aww, look what you made me do!”

“Plenty more where that came from,” Cartman poorly reassured me and then took a huge swig of beer.

It dribbled down his chin and spilled into his breasts, dampening the already sweaty bills in his bra. And so I followed suit, tipping the crunched can in my hand upwards. I knocked my head back and let the golden liquid pour down my throat. It was more bitter than the cocktails had been, but I was so drunk it may as well have been water. Bubbly, bitter water. It too spilled out of the can and down my face, pouring all over my white tee with the sleeves rolled up.

“Another,” I demanded and then let out an enormous belch that could almost be heard over the music.

“Whoa there, you better slow down, Jew, or I’ll have to cut you off.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I threatened and reached once more for my wallet.

“You know, Kyle, tips are only required upfront for specialty cocktails,” Cartman reminded me, beer fresh on his lips.

“Fuck you, Cartman,” I stuffed what I think was a five dollar bill into his slowly filling bra and gave his nipple a particularly unkind yank.

“Mehhhh, Kyle,” he whined in protest. “You can’t abuse the girls! One more time and I’m telling!”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” I adjured, turning out to be a fairly mean drunk. “You’re not one of the girls, you fatass. And if you were, your muff would smell like cabbage. Now get outta here and bring me my beer!”

He hunched over himself and retreated back to the bar. I ran my hands through my hair a few times to calm down but realized my whole world was spinning. I needed to sit down. So I scanned the room until my eyes found a bench along the edge of the dance floor. I pushed through the crowd of sweaty bodies until I reached the bench. I flopped onto it without any decorum, leaned back and spread my legs apart. I hoped Cartman would have an easy time finding me, but I also hoped I’d have a few minutes alone to regroup. 

Fate met somewhere in the middle and only a short while later he found me splayed on the uncomfortable bench. The smug look returned to his face and he trotted over next to me. He loomed above me for just a moment, opening one of the cans of Coors he returned with.

“What about this, exactly, makes you so mad, Kyle?” 

I growled at him, not wanting to give a true response.

“You’re mad that I thought of this and you didn’t,” he suggested, starting to lean down above me. “You’re mad that all your sweet, sweet money is all over my perky tits.”

“They’re not perky, you absolute jerk off,” I spluttered at him.

“Mmm, Kyle’s money,” he rubbed the cans of beer on his chest. “Kyle’s sweet money.”

“Fuck you,” I gritted my teeth.

The neon lights flickered above us. He nudged his way between my knees and kneeled a bit on the bench. His thigh high boots rubbed against the inseam of my jeans and I tried to scoot away, but he left me no room.

“You’re mad that I figured out how to get everything I want,” he supplied further. “And why, Kyle? Why does that make you so mad?”

He cracked open the other can and held it up to my lips only after spilling a fair amount onto the floor in his clumsy drunkenness. I guzzled while he fed me like a baby bird, and I’d be lying if I said at that moment it didn’t do something for me. I lapped greedily at the cheap beer, drinking like my life depended on it until I couldn’t take anymore and spluttered spit and beer all over us. Cartman smirked, not looking particularly upset.

I choked a bit, coughing into my elbow. I still clutched the first empty can in my hand, crunching it fully with the weight of my stress. Cartman’s knee nudged my legs apart further and he made his way completely between my legs. His bare stomach brushed against my shirt and a weird shiver crawled over me, feeling like a lizard scampering up my spine. I shuddered noticeably, and he took this as a sign to move closer to me. The soft fabric of his bra touched my face, and his soft, sweaty skin pushed into my cheeks.

I don’t know what possessed me, but I stuck out my tongue and tentatively licked some of the spilled beer off his skin. It tasted terrible, like salty sweat and this awful beer and somehow I imagined this was the exact flavor of self hatred. But I still did it again, and licked the spot until no droplets remained.

“Who’s my angry little monster?” Cartman cooed and pushed my head deeper into his chest.

It was warm and wet there and I had to get out. He was fully on top of me, and I was starting to panic and feel out of control. My free arm wrapped lightly around his waist and draped itself there for a fleeting moment in time. It felt like forever and I felt simultaneously distressed, angry, and comfortable. It was the strangest feeling. It felt so wrong but I kept moving into it. My tongue dragged along the ampleness of his heaving chest one last time before I began to squirm.

“Get the fuck off me,” I gritted my teeth and leaned to the side, trying to escape him.

“Doesn’t it feel so wrong that it feels right, Kyle?” Cartman teased. “I knew you couldn’t resist my hot body.”

“Get the fuck off me, you garbage!”

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

“I gotta pee,” I blurted out honestly.

The pressure from Cartman’s heavy body combined with a full belly of six drinks meant I really did need to go.

“Oh,” said Cartman, lifting his knee to press it into my stomach.

“Ah, fuck, will you knock it off?” I commanded him and began forcibly pushing him off me.

“Alright, alright,” he conceded and actually let me up.

I rose to my floundering feet and stumbled my way aimlessly around the dance floor until I saw the sign for the restrooms. My feet faltered but I finally made my way inside. I let out a sigh of relief and walked over to the urinal. No sooner had I begun to relieve myself, the door to the bathroom swung open revealing Cartman.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I couldn’t stop the stream of piss, and felt both anger and embarrassment.

He draped himself against the door frame.

“I’m here to finish what you started,” he positively crooned.

Oh, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter where the E rating comes in heheh


	4. Nip Slip

No sooner than I tucked myself back into my jeans did Cartman let the door slam shut behind him. And I was on the defense in a flash.

“Why the fuck are you following me to the bathroom?”

“You know what I’m here for…” Cartman cooed. “Don’t you, Kyle?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, then regrouped. 

“I don’t,” I half lied.

Everything had this horrible yet enticing fuzziness to it through my veil of drunkenness. I could barely stand on my own two legs but my incapacity to let Cartman have a win in any aspect outweighed my lead like limbs. I braced myself to stand and wished he’d leave me alone for the rest of the night. And yet, I felt like I couldn’t tolerate that either. I wished so badly I could teach him a lesson, but I wasn’t even sure what for since I’d already convinced myself he was technically doing nothing wrong.

“You do,” he said with his best low, sultry voice.

The music still blared from the other side of the door, but now it was muffled. I felt like I was in a different world behind the bathroom walls. But somehow this only sparked my aggravation further. 

“I don’t,” I seethed, trying to vanquish any unsavory thoughts I had rushing to the forefront of my mind.

Cartman already had me riled up and I was more willing to lash out than let in. At that point, my thinking was completely black and white. 

“Oh, but you do,” he reiterated without explaining further.

I had enough. I took two long strides towards him and slammed his heavy body against the wall with as much force as I could muster. And he just...let me. He let me hold him down against his will without writhing. It pissed me off even deeper that he veritably refused to fight back. I breathed heavily, fighting against my own pent up frustration. He gazed up at me, languid and almost willing to go along with whatever I wanted. 

His body pressed against mine as I pushed into him. He licked his lips expectantly and my head lowered, our foreheads touching. I felt ready to burst, a twisted combination of anxiety, alcohol, and instinct. His breath felt hot and sweet against mine. A guttural sound escaped from the back of my throat. 

One of my arms held me up against the wall and the other laid over his chest, pushing him solidly in place against the wall. My legs were spread wide to sustain all the weight I supported between the two of us.

“What are you waiting for?” Cartman whispered.

Without any cognizant recognition of my own actions, my lips crashed into his. Immediately he lapped at me greedily, but I shot him down with a quick bite to his tongue. If we were doing this, we were doing it my way. And I was going to teach him some kind of lesson. I was playing enough mind games on my own without getting wrapped up in his.

He whined a little at the nip but submitted quickly and let me take control. I aggressively pushed my mouth into his. It was hard to imagine that I was making out with Eric Cartman in a dirty club restroom but I pushed through that thought to focus on the moment. And at that moment I knew I was going to make him my bitch.

“Fuck you, Cartman,” I growled into his mouth between the loud, sloppy kissing.

“Call me Irene,” he corrected.

“Fuck you, Irene,” I grunted, flattening our bodies together.

He moaned into my mouth and I pushed harder. Our teeth clacked together from my aggression, but Cartman seemed undeterred and continued hungrily reciprocating my forcible kissing. I could feel heat rising in my face, spreading all the way to my ears. I felt so certainly uncertain and let my body do the work that my heavily inebriated brain couldn’t.

“Fuck the shit out of you, Irene,” I grumbled.

“Yes,” Cartman murmured against me. “Let the anger run through you.”

“I said _fuck_ you,” a trail of saliva clung between us as I nearly literally spit the words into his mouth.

“So fuck me,” he taunted me.

I reeled back for a moment only to lash back and slam him against the wall. The lines between making out and fighting were becoming severely blurred. He whined but instead of retaliating, he took the opportunity to free his arms and snaked one around my midsection. He pulled me close, so his chest and stomach fell flush with my own. I felt so fucking drunk.

“Gonna fuck you,” I heard my own voice ring in my ears, delirious and lusty.

This time, he pulled me into the kiss and prodded his tongue deep in my mouth. I let my own entwine with his as we rubbed our torsos together. His hand ran up and down my back in a way that made me angry, but wasn’t at all unpleasant. I shifted my legs closer together and Cartman shifted too. His right knee pushed my legs so that I straddled his thigh.

There was no resistance on my part. The moment I felt his thick leg in between mine I ground down on it. My pants felt a bit tight around my steadily swelling cock. I raised my fist up towards Cartman’s neck. I made efforts to choke him out while grinding on his thigh high boot, but I was a wreck and he still somehow had enough semblance of control to splutter and reach up to grab my hand. He redirected me to his chest. I gripped, hard.

He squealed. I squeezed so hard one of the five dollar bills spilled over and fluttered gracelessly to the floor. It distracted both of us from our mouths for a fleeting second, drawing attention to his ample chest.

“You disgust me,” I informed him, running my hand gruffly over his tit.

My instincts were still running wild. My head dropped to meet his chest level and I used my chin to push aside the hot pink fabric of his push up bra. His soft skin spilled out from the cup and within seconds my mouth was on him.

The same familiar taste from before greeted me, salt and lingering beer flavors swirled on my tongue. But this time I was certain it was what desperation tasted like. His nipple tightened under my tongue. I bit down on it perhaps a little harder than I meant to, because Cartman jolted upright against the wall.

I licked his nipple, thinking a half assed apology but never spoke it. Instead I sucked and kissed the whole of his tit, playing with him as I saw fit. His hips tried to buck but I pushed him back into the wall. Our struggle only spurred me further and I worked my mouth harder. It was sloppy and unplanned and I had no idea what I was doing, but I continued anyway without hesitation. 

“God damn, Kyle,” he whispered in a husky voice. “Feels so...ahh…”

He was losing himself, almost as far gone as I was. I could barely take the heat rising all over my body, making me sweat. Cartman tore his finger through my hair and pulled me close. It was more of a gesture than an act seeing as we were already pressed so tightly against each other. My cheek rubbed harshly against Cartman’s bare chest and I reached up to cup the other side.

“Feels fuckin what?” I demanded, mouth still heavily preoccupied with his tits.

“Mmm...good…”

Not the right answer. I yanked the bra down and firmly grabbed for the mound of flesh underneath. Quickly, I found the nipple and twisted harshly. It perked up quickly, but he still squeaked in pain.

“Mehhh, Kyle, not… not like that! That hurts them.”

“I told you, Irene” I grunted and gnashed again on his tit. “I’m gonna fuck you… fuck you up so bad…”

Cartman’s strength returned to him and he pushed me off his torso. I glared at him, unsure of what he was expecting.

“Like this,” he squished his chest together, demonstrating.

I sneered but nevertheless I watched.

“Like this,” he repeated, this time lowering his head to run his tongue over his own tits.

Hot pink lipstick smeared over his whole disheveled face, but even still Cartman dragged his face along his pushed up chest and sucked on himself. I was honestly and uncomfortably turned on. So I did something about it.

I picked up where he left off. My cold hands cupped his hot breasts and I buried my face in his cleavage. I squeezed and caressed his full chest while my mouth worked overtime, lapping on him and kissing him. 

Cartman’s knees began to give out under him and he began dipping lower and lower, making me lean over him and really work for it. Eventually he slipped to his knees, breathless.

“Yeah, like that,” he sighed.

I kicked him in the thickest part of his heavy thigh and he yelped a little.

“Hey, muff cabbage,” I berated him. “Are we doing this or what?”

Cartman instantly propped himself up on his knees.

“That’s what I thought,” I gave him a drunken smirk.

He moved to take the lead, and since I didn’t know what I was doing, I allowed for it in the time being. Like before, Cartman pushed his boobs together into impressive cleavage. But this time he didn’t move higher. I was confused at first, but then he scooted forward. I gasped and tried to move away, but my feet stayed firmly in place.

Cartman began rubbing himself on the zipper of my denim jeans. The pressure from the other side was getting unbearably tight. 

“Hard already?”

“How fucking drunk are you?” I blurted out suddenly at that.

“Not as drunk as you,” he retorted.

Which was a probably fair assessment of the situation. I was pretty far gone down the rabbit hole. Still, my cock was hard and there was an ample pair of tits right in front of them. There was no way I could concentrate on anything else.

“Prob’bly right,” I muttered and allowed myself to grind on him.

I balanced myself by gripping onto his shoulder while I thrusted my hips. I found myself pressing harder and harder with each thrust, wanting to burst free from my pants. I could barely hold out any longer. Then again, what was I waiting for?

I unzipped my jeans as deftly as I could and exposed my cock to the cold air. I was throbbing and ready for just about anything at this point. Cartman actually licked his lips at that, somewhere between intrigue and preparation.

“Don’t stare,” I commanded and he promptly squeezed his eyes shut, as if not doing so would result in more staring.

“Nice hog, fire crotch,” he teased me with a little chortle.

I opted to ignore him and instead slid myself between his tits. As if on instinct, he pressed his folds over my swollen dick. I gave it a tentative, wobbly fuck. Shit, it felt so good I had to have more. And before I knew it, I was fucking Eric Cartman’s tits in a dirty bathroom, drunk out of my mind. What the fuck had I gotten myself into? I didn’t know and I didn’t care. The reality that we could be caught hadn’t quite settled into my mind yet. I was focused, disoriented, angry, and horny beyond all belief.

And so I kept fucking him. I never wanted to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it abruptly cuts off, but I wanted all the chapters of a similar length so instead of having this chapter be the last and be really long, I decided to stop here for now. Since this is a gift, the last chapter shouldn't be too long of a wait.


	5. Harder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting!

“Harder…”

I pushed and thrusted harder.

“Harder…” his voice repeated. “Harder...!”

“God dammit I’m fucking you as hard as I can, fatass!” I bellowed louder than I should have.

Cartman looked up at me with sultry, drunken eyes like he was about to yawn.

“Is that all you got, you little ginger Jersey Jew?”

“I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you,” I promised.

My hands raised up again to cup both his tits hanging out of the hot pink bra and I mashed them together against my cock. My hips knew no resistance and I fucked him into the wall. The head of my dick peaked out between his ample chest with each thrust, threatening to tickle his double chin.

“Oh my god, Kyle, play with my nipples,” Cartman grunted out between each time he was knocked against the tiles.

“Fuck you, fatass.”

“No Kyle, I’m seriously, play with them again,” he pleaded.

“You’re a fucking pig,” I told him, but I acquiesced anyway.

His large hand reached down between his legs and I could sort of tell that he was palming himself through his skin tight shorts. It must have felt agonizing to be trapped in those with a hard on, but I couldn’t have cared less about his feelings. Instead I continued fondling him gruffly, tugging at his nipples as I thrusted carelessly between his huge tits.

“Tell me I feel good.”

“You feel like shit.”

“Then why are you _ahh_ fucking me?”

“Because _ngh_ I hate you!”

“No, see, mmm, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Shut up,” I spat the words at him. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

I was getting close and I hated it. Everything was so out of control. I twisted Cartman’s tight pink nipples and elicited little moans and squeals that drove me over the edge. I felt heat rush through my veins, burning my skin and causing my head to feel tight like I was about to burst.

“Say my name,” Cartman cooed. “Say it.”

“Mmm, fuck… Irene…”

And then I came in a huge swell, spilling my cum all over his soft skin. It pooled in rivulets, dribbling between his cleavage.

“Aww, Kyle… you got my pretty outfit dirty.”

“Good,” I grunted, still high on my orgasm.

“No but Kyle-”

“Seriously shut the fuck up, you trash, you’re killing my after glow,” I interrupted him.

And then I had a fraction of a thought before I acted. I dropped to my knees to face him at eye level. 

“Do it,” Cartman gave me a knowing look and nodded, his eyes barely open as he lolled his head back to grant me access.

And then I did it. I ducked my head down and let my tongue hang out of my mouth to lap up the salty mess. I dragged my tongue along his skin, and ate my own cum. I was too drunk still to be disgusted to I simply acted on instinct and licked him clean. I swallowed without a second afterthought and left lingering kisses to his skin as I worked. Cartman’s hand still sat between his legs, feebly grasping at himself for some friction. I finished my ministrations and moved to stand up, letting him follow me to his feet.

“Forgetting something, are we?” He pressed his bulge against my thigh.

“Yeah, fuck you.”

I reeled back and punched him in the gut, hard. While he was reeling, I absconded from the dingy bathroom to the dimly lit club hallway. The music pounded in my ears again as opposed to the muffled sound of the bathroom. I swayed in place for a while, feeling at a loss. I gritted my teeth. I clenched my fists. I let out an audible growl. And then I marched back into the bathroom.

Cartman was right where I left him, except he was busying himself with collecting the loose bills that had fallen to the floor. He cast me a nervous glance when he saw I returned, almost like he was cowering. Not quite, but almost.

I wasted no time in pushing him against the wall like I did before, but this time I held him in a choke hold. Cartman spluttered and choked a bit but didn’t try too hard to fight me off.

“Finish it,” I demanded.

“F...finish what..?”

“You know what the fuck I’m talking about,” I grunted in his ear. “Fucking finish yourself, you awful fucking dick.”

“Kyle, I-”

“Do it!”

Cartman whimpered but reached down below my arms and pulled his hard dick out from his shorts. He sat there, on the verge of tears, just holding himself.

“Fucking stroke it,” I commanded. “Jesus Christ, you act like you’ve never done this before.”

And so he stroked it, but without much fervor. The blood had rushed to his face and he was clearly humiliated.

“Like this?” He whined into my arm around his neck. “Is this what you like?”

“You fucking useless garbage,” I choked him a little harder and he gasped.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Cartman ran his thumb over the tip of his noticeably small cock.

“That’s more like it.... Go faster.”

Cartman began stroking himself at a more reasonable speed and I held tight to him, occasionally giving his neck a squeeze to remind him that he wasn’t getting out of this. His tight shorts clung around his hips, dipping a bit lower with each pump of his cock. 

“Yeah,” I grunted a bit in his ear. “Like that.”

Cartman’s breathing increased soon enough and my grip lessened just the tiniest bit as he got into it. The music still blared outside, but we were in our own little bubble in the bathroom. His fist gripped around himself and he yanked at his cock with growing fervor.

“Tell me you like fucking your hand.”

“I… I like fucking my hand…”

“Yeah. Say it again. Say ‘I love fucking my hand, Kyle.’”

“I love fucking my...h-hand, Kyle.”

“Good. Now tell me how much bigger I am than you.

Cartman hiccuped a small laugh and I choked him, causing him to gag and splutter.

“No, I meant it, you’ve got a nice hog.”

“Don’t call it a hog!”

We stopped our banter for some time so Cartman could focus on the task at hand. He began thrusting into his hand excitedly as he came closer to his finish. I couldn’t see much from my angle but I could feel in his body language that his fear was replaced by former lust and that he was getting closer. He moaned and whimpered, his body lurching forward. And then he bucked a few times with a couple of gasps peppered in before he collapsed. I held him up in my arms with all my strength, but he was too heavy and fell free from my choke hold.

He came into my view and I could see the cum dripping from his fingers and all over his shorts. His face was red, despite the make up. His wig barely hung to his head. Cartman was a completely undone mess. I felt a strange mixture of shame and pride in my work.

“There,” he panted. “Are you happy now, you Jersey rat?”

I reached for my chain wallet and dumped all the coins and remaining bills all over the floor.

“That’s for my tab.”

Cartman scrambled to pick it up and I gave him a half hearted kick in the ribs. He squealed and crumpled up on the ground. I didn't kick him hard, but it was still a kick.

“Fuck you, _Bad Irene_.”

He sniffled and picked a quarter up off the ground.

“Kyle…?”

“What.”

“Are we still meeting at Stan’s place tomorrow…?”

“...Yeah. I don't see why not.”

“Okay cool.”

I exited the bathroom and stomped down the hallway. The dancing bodies all looked the same and I paid them no mind. I made my way to the exit and let the cool evening air bite at my face. I tried focusing on only one thing: making my way home. I was much too drunk to walk alone, so I opted to head for the bus stop. I hoped it was still running.

I made it all the way to the sheltered bus stop before I realized I’d dumped all my change on the grimy club floor and didn’t have a penny to my name. I sighed, heavily. With only one thing left to do, I called my mom to ask her to come pick me up. She was going to absolutely kill me. But at least one thing was for sure. This was going to be a night I’d remember for a long, long time.


End file.
